Fire and Ice
by Trackula
Summary: At Twenty-five years old, Kim has become a creature of solitude and obsession, chasing a dream that continues to elude her, while losing her heart along the way. Can she find peace, even in the arms of the dead? 2nd in the AfterLife Series. Please R
1. 0 It's a Wonderful Life

Fire and Ice

Standard Legal Mumbo Jumbo: I don't own Kim Possible, trust me, you'd see a big difference if I did. I also don't own Gungrave: Overdose, or any and all Robert Frost poetry. Honestly, anyone who thinks I do needs to read the first installment of this series.

* * *

Fire and Ice

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice." – Robert Frost

* * *

Chapter 0: It's a Wonderful Life

* * *

_Thirty Minutes…_

Pale pink lips, rubbed raw and chapped over from multiple incisor bites were tugged down at the corners in a frown. The small LED screen before her displayed a timer that slowly ticked down one second after another. There was still thirty minutes left until…

With a haggard sigh, she stood and moved away from the screen only to then move towards another across from it. A few swiftly executed electronic commands later and a barren dystopian view lit brightly across the monitor.

The sight would have inspired tears, only ten hours ago. Now she simply lacked the energy to react to it.

The sky as shown on the screen was chocked black with ash and lit with a roiling orange by still-burning flames, which stood nearly as tall as the buildings they consumed. Everything in sight was black and orange reflected from a field of broken glass sprinkled over the earth. There was the occasional blackened limb, or bloody red streak to add some humanity to the macabre landscape, but for the most part it was just an undulating burning miasma, with no life and no hope.

Go City was burning.

Moss green and bloodshot eyes quickly looked over her shoulder towards the other monitor. The countdown had lapsed twenty-seven minutes. She wondered if they even had that much to spare. She silently prayed that she could handle the truth that waited at the end of that countdown. But this wasn't about what she wanted. It stopped being about _that_ some time ago.

Now her life was about getting back down to basics; time to only focus on the need over the want. She used to be so good at that… Now, now that line of thinking didn't even make any sense. Where was that baseless optimism that used to let her see so clearly? That warm sense of altruistic responsibility that drove her to keep pushing forward, beyond her own needs and desires.

What happened to the girl that could do anything?

_But for her… I felt that again when it was for her…_

No matter how deeply she searched her soul she found nothing but years of steadily built up aggravation and resentment. All which used to stimulate her beyond her childish obsessions had withered within.

She leaned back and noticed how far the counter had wound down in her moment of distraction. Twenty minutes left. In only twenty minutes she'd no longer be alone in this trailer. It was a terrifying thought. Almost involuntarily she turned around and looked towards the back, taking in the rest of the poorly lit and claustrophobic enclosure.

The space was nine-by-twelve feet of gray metal, and tubes, interwoven and messily spilling out of panels along the walls and ceiling like plastic and steel viscera, several pooling around the floor in a cluttered hazardous mess. A broken fluorescent light fixture hung impotently from the corrugated steel ceiling. The three computer monitors scattered through the space were the only source of luminescence to be found. Still, even still, her eyes could easily discern the shape resting at the end of the trailer that the poor lighting failed to define.

Atop a raised metal throne, quiet as a shadow sat her soon-to-be companion. The thin sheet of fabric pooled over her body like a blanket kept her body mostly obscured save for a few long strands of inky blackness, and pale mint. It was a sight she was well accustomed to. After more than eight years she could draw it out with her eyes shut.

Green eyes narrowed and she took in a shuddering breath as her cheeks flushed. She tensed slightly and marched forward so that barely a foot remained between the two. Her fists clenched at her sides and sore muscles strained protest beneath the tight metal of her armor. The sight alone reflexively brought such waves or revolt, anger and antipathy, the lion's share of which was in fact directed inward. The closer the countdown came towards zero the fresher and more exposed old wounds became.

"I get it now," The words spilled out, and she currently lacked the mental resilience to dissent. Her throat was raw, sending jolts of protest with each word, but she felt none of that, choosing instead to continue on with quiet scorn.

"All that bullshit you were saying about how selfish _I_ was being... How- How I just didn't _understand_? How I just didn't _care_? I get it now why that hurt _so much_." With each word she moved in inches closer, not at all caring that she was having a one-sided argument with the not-so-recently deceased. Olive eyes flashed and she stopped directly before the raised throne.

After a moment's pause to consider the countenance of her silent company, she continued, "I should have expected it really. I mean, how in the world did I forget how absolutely selfish _you_ are? I mean, what was I _thinking_? The world has always just _begun_ and _ended_ with you, _hasn't it_!"

She turned away as dull aching warmth spread out along her eyes, the salty moisture aggravating already raw eyes. The redhead harshly rubbed away the fluid, but the segmented steel of her gauntlets scraped at her cheeks. She cried out weakly at the unintended self-abuse leading to only more unwelcome tears stinging her tender face.

But she wasn't done yet, and after another shuddered breath she continued on.

"_I- I was there_! I was there watching the whole-_fucking_-time! You act like you're the only one hurting, and that _no one understands_?! But you never once, _never-fucking-once_, tried to understand _me_! _I_ wasn't the one pushing you away! _I_ wasn't the one who _gave up_! You think I wasted my life for- _for this_?!"

"And to think, I was willing to bear that, all of it… everything. I wanted to, because I was so _juvenile_! And blind. Eight years, _eight years_, and you, you give up after _six months_! Did you ever even try? Did you even see all that I was sacrificing, _have_ sacrificed, because I wanted to make it all right?! " Her shoulders stiffened and her throat seized up with still raw emotions. After a moment the paralysis passed, and she continued, her voice no longer shouting, barely above a lover's whisper.

"And after all that, you say I'm not who you remember. You treat me like some kind of stranger. How could you say all that with a straight face?" She remembered the vicious heated exclamations perfectly. She remembered the looks of disdain and, worse, contempt, as though they were spoken seconds before. At the time, she'd been too stunned to offer back a proper retort, but now, all those months of pent of rage were spilling forth, not caring or appreciating the dire circumstances not even ten feet outside the trailer.

"You're just… you're just so fucking selfish…" She managed as hot tears trailed paths down her face, dribbling down and pooling along the neckline of her ThanoTech battlesuit. A steady numbing sensation spread up from her feet to her legs, and with it all the strength in her fled. She fell to her knees and forward onto her armored hands as the tears dribbled and tapped onto the metal beneath her in morose rhythm.

Looking up, past the tightly wrapped black fabric, over pale mint skin, she lowered her head and gave a wail of grief pushing back and covering her face. "Oh! Oh God, I'm… Oh my god I'm so s-s-ssorry! You- You were right… I didn't understand… I couldn't! But… but what was I supposed to do? It was all falling apart so _quickly_… Everything was happening and before I knew it, you and I…" She swallowed and took a breath.

"I should have tried _harder_…"

For over five minutes she sat there, shoulders slumped and head down. The unrelenting torrent of conflicting and outright clashing emotions leaving her dull and senseless until she could let them simply work their way through her psyche. She had more than enough experience owing to the last three breakdowns that month.

The gel layer of her armor and the thick steel of the floor kept her from feeling the brunt of the tremors shaking and rattling the landscape. The shuddering was almost a comfort, the sensation giving her something to ground herself.

Almost lifelessly, like a puppet on strings, she leaned forward placing her hands along the ground before hauling herself up to her unsteady feet. Her body rocked back and forth as she searched inward for what used to be an Olympic-caliber sense of balance. The best she could summon was what one would normally find after a strong shot or two of whisky.

Turning, she looked over her shoulder towards the monitor, the display telling her the good news and the bad all in one declining numerical value. Not for the first time that day, she reminded herself of how important this was. Without this, there was nothing else they could do. She'd looked the beast in the eye; she knew it to be true. And this wasn't just about her, this was about Ron, and Viv, and… Well everyone really. World saving really did entail "_The World_" after all. How she'd slipped on that simple fact she'd never know.

The monitor watching over the outer perimeter was still the same orange and black mass of fire and darkness. And Ron had run right out into the heart of the maelstrom forcing her current action now. If she didn't move fast, she knew that she'd never lay eyes on him again.

Otherwise, she'd never have broken this promise to _her_.

"I- I know that you're going to hate me for this. But… But I need you now." She winced and shook her head. "No, that's not right… I've needed you for over eight years." She added softly.

"Right now though, this isn't about me, or what I want. I remember what you told me, I honestly haven't forgotten any of that. But so many people are being hurt. …And I can't do this alone." _Not anymore_, she almost added.

Summoning forth what minuscule resolution remained in her she spoke with more bass in her voice, "When you wake up, I'm going to get on my knees, _beg you_ to forgive me, and ask you for your help just one more time."

A silence settled over them, her words hanging in the air. The corpse's silence disputed the truth of her claim. A bemused smile slowly formed against her will. "You're right… That's not all of it… I want-"She took a deep breath, and released it slowly, "I want a second chance. I think-"

"**BWEEEP BWEEEP BWEEEP**!"

A sudden alarm system screamed out from the monitor scanning the exterior and cut her off with wailing warning demanding her notice.

Almost instantly she was standing before said monitor seeing nothing but white static scraping quickly along the screen. The camera had been smashed. And one by one the proximity sensors were blacking out around the trailer. Icicles crawled up her veins as her world was rendered blind.

_They're here!  
_  
With a loud groaning metal **CLANG** a deep indentation appeared in the two-foot thick blast doors. Only seconds later a second burst through beside the first, the entire small trailer shaking and groaning with each rhythmic impact.

_Oh no… No NO! NO!! Not yet! Dammit! God-fucking-hell! How did they find me?! I got all of them, didn't I?! The report claimed there were fifteen in the area, and I counted off that many! _She rationalized in a panic. It was too soon, far too soon. As a fifth dent rushed inward a frightening realization reached around her.

Thinking a million thoughts a second, she ran to the back, grabbing a metal shutter collapsed into the ceiling and bringing it down with a clang. As protection it was as useful as wet tissue, but at least it would keep her companion concealed. Right now, _she_ was as completely helpless as a newborn.

_Process is in its final stage!_ _It's too soon! If it's interrupted now the damage… the damage would be _irreversible_! I need more time until-_

Without pausing to panic; her eyes darted over towards the monitor to her right. There were still over seven minutes left on the countdown. Seven minutes! The doors would hold for maybe a third of-

A muffled tearing sound derailed her attempts to work out a feasible plan. Blue white fingers tore through ripped and rendered steel, grabbed the ragged edges of the newly formed opening and then pulling and tearing the gateway wide open. The strength in those hands was something not of this earth. She knew from recent experience just how much damage only a pair of those ice-sculpture hands could do.

Sulfurous toxic air and heat flooded the trailer with the final breach of its pressurized environmental conditioning systems. The flames outside obscured and toyed with her vision reducing the Herculean intruder to little more than a lanky impossible shadow. A shadow with ruby floodlights inset into its skull in place of eyes.

The lights looked her over in clinical disregard, barely registering her as a threat as it placed one foot wrapped in immaculately polished leather inside the trailer, followed by another until it's long body filled the ruined entrance completely.

At approximately seven feet, the monster was a vision to behold. Its arms and legs were long and thin, the hands coming down nearly to its knees. Its exposed flesh was blueish white and smooth as glass, with a crystalline translucency that made it more akin to a carved diamond statue than anything. A pair of tiny useless batwings stuck out from its left shoulder twitching and shuddering occasionally. Its face was a perfectly symmetrical parody of a man's, thin and hard, with two blood red lights in the hollow eye sockets.

It was dressed quite stylishly for an abomination. It stood wrapped from head-to-toe in a pressed black cotton dress suit. A white button-up dress shirt lay underneath mostly obscured by a crimson tie so bright in contrast with the darkness of the ensemble that it was almost jarring. Dressed for marryin' and buryin' as Ron would have put it; in this case, Kim guessed the latter.

_**"You are a hard woman to reach, Dr. Possible."**_ It's legion of voices spoke in chorus.

"Well, then you should have made an appointment," she retorted darkly.

It took another step and Kim tensed, waiting for it to spring forward. It did not disappoint.

The action was nearly instantaneous, executed with immaculate grace. Its gangly body belied the speed and power it flaunted as it leaped forward, knocking her guarded arms to her sides and grasping her firmly around the throat. Her armored back was slammed hard into what was directly behind her, shattering the command console.

Were her armor's power core not currently in the red, things would have been more favorable for her, but as it stood, she was currently little more than a child at this creature's mercy.

Her throat seized with the frozen contact of his right hand directly against her flesh. The grip was not choking however, more restraining in nature, but tight enough that she knew any struggling would be swiftly met out with brutal retribution.

_**"We are amazed at your tenacity and physical aptitude, Doctor. Never before has a mere human exhibited such a degree of… interference with any of our designs. But still, why do you persist on this course of action?"**_ It lowered its head slightly so they stood eye-to-eye. _**"Do you not understand what you are giving up by resisting us? The world wants this evolution. They may be currently unaware, but change is never easily or readily accepted. "  
**_  
"…And you think Fist gives a shit about your… _evolution_?" She asked after a pause, her tone belying her fatal predicament.

_**"Fist is merely a means to an end, easily removed if necessary. Much like you, Doctor. …Easily removed."**_

"Big words for a parasite. Especially considering that without a body you're nothing but a wet stain the color of toilet bowl cleanser."

_**"Insults now, Doctor? Regardless, you are mistaken. We **_**are**_** this host, and he **_**is**_** us. We have become one and perfect, a joy you cannot currently even **_**begin**_** to comprehend. Not unless you choose the only logical path."  
**_  
"I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm happy settling on the illogical human path."

_**"You and your race are so foolish. This is all thanks to your work, and yet-"**_ he was cut off by an armored fist striking him along the jaw. The action caused a tiny fragment of crystal to chip away from his jaw line.

"Candis. Not me, and she's paying for it now."

The creature made an action akin to a sigh, shaking its head in what it probably thought of as an impressive mimicry of human disappointment. It made her sick to her stomach, seeing this _thing_ pretend to be a person, all of them dressed in those stupid suits, pathetic MIB look-alikes. Why pretend to be human like that in the first place? It was wrongsick above all other wrongsick.

_**"I see that negotiations have broken down then. Well, to be clear, now my remaining prerogative has been set."**_ His free right hand moved over to hovering just an inch in front of her right eye.

She looked over his shoulder for a brief instant before lowering her head, ragged red bangs falling before her eyes. Her shoulders shuddered, and the Iceman probably thought she was crying, the fear of impending death overwhelming her. After all, such an emotional response was logical. Something it could calculate and postulate.

What wasn't though was when she threw her head back laughing, harshly and disdainfully in his face.

"I have to say, while I've really enjoyed this chat, I've got no more time to waste with you."

The sounds of hissing cables, and disconnecting wires forced its attention away from the laughing doctor and towards the automatically rising partition segmenting the trailer. With the obstacle cleared away, the Iceman got a clear eyeful of the figure on the metal throne. Thick cables disconnected from up and down the wrapped pale form.

"You think you're all that" was whispered bitterly in his ear, "but you're _not_." She was abruptly released and dropped to the floor as the Iceman turned his full attention to the risen figure.

The motions of standing, stiffly, and unsteadily caused the tarp hanging limply from strong yet slender shoulders to droop forward, and pool around ankles clad in tight black boots. Long thick black hair spilled around her shoulders and back, partially obscuring the diametrically opposed green and black hugging along her every ample curve. Gloved hands strained and gripped at the armrests as she begrudgingly inclined her body forward and stepped from the elevated footrest to the steel beneath her with a dull clang. A thin trail of cold frost hissed out from between razor edged teethe.

The Iceman, took a hesitant step back, perhaps experiencing some of that genuine human fear for the first time in it's short life. Or maybe it was some minor remnant left behind from the psyche of whomever the poor soul was that the Substance had absorbed for that body. But the hesitation was fleeting, and with a resounding inhumane keen its right fist struck out intent on demolishing meat and bone.

The Doctor winced, but did not avert her eyes when a heavy **CRACK** filled the trailer.

Stumbling backwards, the iceman looked down at his chest in puzzlement. Or more accurately, he looked down _through_ his chest, through the fist-sized fractured portal driven clean through his shirt. The doctor barely registered the shred of blood red fabric gliding lightly too her feet. Her eyes were not even focused on the stumbling iceman, as dozens of hairline cracks ran up and down his form, growing thicker and wider as diamond dust fragmented off and disappeared into the ether.

All she saw was a familiar pair of emerald green eyes, unfocused and wild as they stared pitilessly at their disintegrating foe.

Slowly, hesitantly those same eyes moved towards her other companion. They focused immediately on those olive orbs, and for a time there was deathly silence, punctuated by the soft rustling of an empty suit settling to the floor.

_She wants an answer… She wants to know why I lied, why I brought her back again. She hates me, look at her! It's so obvious!_ Standing to her feet in a panic, the redhead looked up at her silent companion, new tears threatening to cascade down her raw cheeks. "Shego, I'm _so sorry_! _I_-"

But it suddenly became hard to talk when she found her face buried in the cold flesh of Shego's chest, held in a tight embrace that threatened to suffocate her. She couldn't have cared less, and returned the gesture with equal force, letting her sobs soak into the fabric stretched between her the late thief's breasts.

"Hey Princess" came a strained rasp from deep within a frosted over voice box, eliciting an even tighter hug. But before this comfort could continue, firm clawed hands gripped Kim by the shoulders and pulled her far enough away so that Shego could look her sternly in the eye.

"I need to know what's going on. What was that thing? How did this happen?"

Kim looked up at Shego with sunken-in raw eyes before smiling grimly, an expression disturbingly unsuited for that face.

"What happened? …I kept my promise."

* * *

Chapter 0: End


	2. 1 Brave New World

_Standard Legal Mumbo Jumbo: I don't own Kim Possible, trust me, you'd see a big difference if I did. I also don't own Gungrave: Overdose, or any and all Robert Frost poetry. Honestly, anyone who thinks I do needs to read the first installment of this series._

Fire and Ice

**Chapter 1: Brave New World**

* * *

**Seven Months ****A****go  
**

* * *

_Well_ that's _an eerie sight_, was the general opinion of most observers on that afternoon within the Millennium Compound.

It wasn't enough that all the workers and researchers who called the complex home had several times that day seen Dr. Kimberly "Frankenstein" Possible running back and forth through the corridors at a shockingly impressive pace. That in itself was creepy, since it wasn't unusual to go weeks without laying eyes on the shapely - if somewhat off-putting - redhead.

No, what was really disturbing, and more than a little upsetting, was the look of unabashed joy spread across her face.

For all of the years she'd been employed at the compound, doing... whatever the hell it was she was always doing down in Sector-T, she'd only ever had that stressed frown on her face, radiating a not-so-mild aura of "stay the hell out of my hair if you know what's good for you." But seeing her with a smile, and such a _dazzling_ smile at that, was... _troubling_.

Of course, it wasn't _just_ her generally upsetting demeanor that made Dr. Possible such a pariah among her peers, though that certainly made matters worse. In actuality, it was mostly her research. One was not assigned to Sector-T (not-so-jokingly referred as "Taboo" by most of them) without one's work being a little... _off-kilter_. Some Sector-T projects reeked of junk science, but others were positively frightening.

Not a one of them had ever been given any concrete explanation regarding Dr. Possible's _particular_ field of study, but there were rumors, and rather unsavory rumors at that. There were whispers of work with human cadavers, large shipments of blood, and more activities too grotesque to be fully delineated. Indeed, some of the rumors had strayed into territory that was downright indecent.

Many of the young interns and researchers who had attempted to court the petite redhead and been shot down had spread a widely accepted rumor that her sexual tastes were reserved for the… _dearly departed_. "She only gets hot after you go cold" was the most common wording. That was where the nickname Frankenstein had come from, and it was used quite often at the cafeteria, well within earshot of her.

All of these factors, and many more besides, kept anyone from approaching her to ask why she had been running from the freight elevator to the storage facility nonstop for the last thirty minutes, always coming back with a heavily packed suitcase or bag in hand before repeating the process, humming a chipper off-key tune along the way. Some were simply stunned that she had the stamina for that kind of work. They were getting tired just looking at her.

This behavior went on uninterrupted for another ten minutes before a man walked out into the corridor for the first time that day and stopped dead at the display. A wicked grin cut across his cheeks upon observing for a few minutes. He then strolled casually up the long path towards the elevator where a small mountain of packed boxes and suitcases resided.

When Kimberly came back around, and saw him barring her path, her sunny and bright demeanor all but shattered instantly. A cold deadly glare moved across her eyes with ease born of near constant practice. She pushed her thin glasses up slightly and looked into his grinning black eyes.

"Something you need, Dez? Or can I actually _enjoy_ my day for once?"

"Gosh, Kimberly! Always such _hostility_, and directed at little old _me_. What could _I_ possibly have done to warrant such abuse?" Dr. Desmond "Dez" Troyer inquired. A slightly lascivious smile, his usual expression, stretched across his tan and eminently punchable face.

Unlike Kim, Dez made no secret of _his_ work down in Taboo. Automated Artillery Platforms, AAPs, were his passion. Essentially they were little more than big armored death-tanks with legs. He'd patented over a dozen of the vile things, all with names like Jezebel, or Megadeth. Kim had liked them better when Ron had shown her pictures of them in a Spider-Man comic book at second grade recess. Ron had called them "Spider-Slayers" or something like that. Whatever they were called, they were still childish; a grown man should not have been building life-size ones, and certainly shouldn't have been _paid_ to do so. Not in Kim's opinion, at any rate.

One might expect a fat and sweaty nerd at the helm of such a project, but Troyer came off as a handsome and fit individual at 6'3, with dark skin, a well-groomed goatee, and short spiky brown hair. His looks and youthful enthusiasm would have made him instantly popular among his colleagues, were it not for the way he tended to describe the destructive capacity of his works, that devilish gleam in his eye, and the fact that he reeked of complete and total amorality. And rotten cheese.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he was the _second_ least popular person in the entire Millennium Compound. Second, of course, to Dr. Kimberly Possible. He was one of the only people who could and did approach Kim regularly. One would expect a certain amount of solidarity between the two pariahs, but Dez didn't want to help or comfort Kim. Far from it.

He wanted to give her hell.

"Hostility?" she asked calmly. "Stand there a few seconds longer, and you'll start to see some hostility."

Experience and common sense had him shifting to the right without a second thought. Even so, he pressed on. "I heard through the grapevine that you finally had, ah, some kind of breakthrough down there in Orpheus. Congratulations. Care to wow me?"

Kim ignored him, flinging the last bag she had brought onto the already mountainous stack.

"Really, Princess--"

Kim's eyes narrowed almost to slits. "_Never_ call me Princess. _Ever_. And I'm heading down now, so get the hell off the lift."

Dez laughed and shook his head, a rogueish grin plastered across his face. "Well, A) you don't sign my paycheck, so you can take that order of yours and shove it up one of your precious corpses. And B) I'm headed down too, so I guess that makes you and me lift-buddies. Don't that just beat all?" He asked, hands clasped in front of his chest, voice _dripping_ with disdain.

Kim gritted her teeth and marched past him, fishing a transparent card interlaced with thin circuit patterns along its edge out of her pocket. Practically slicing the card through the deep groove of the reader controlling the lift, she then placed her hand along the flat panel beside the key card. When her clearance for entering "Taboo" finished running through the system, the lift soundlessly began its smooth descent.

"So what's all this crap for, anyways?" Dev asked brightly, "Playing dress up with one of your stiffs? Plan to have a mad tea party?"

When she didn't so much as turn to look his was he sighed exaggeratedly and gave another lecherous smirk, "Stop being so secretive all the time. It drives your turn-on factor _through the roof_, babe..."

That was her limit. "_Screw you_, Dez! I don't begrudge you your flashy overcompensating _tinker toys_, so stop being an unbearable asshole for once in your life and return the _fucking_ favor!" she snapped, whipping around to face him. Her olive eyes flashed behind her lenses.

He clutched his chest and fell back into the wall, mocking injury. "Aww, that _hurts_, Kimberly. And if you wanted to know about my darlings, all you had to do was _ask_. Arachnophobia is nearing her final testing phase; we finally got her rough-terrain conversion system worked out. You'd _know_ that if you ever decided to crawl out from under your _rock_ and take a peek at _real_ R&D. Might make you finally decide to quit playing with your dead boy-and/or-girl toys - that's right, I hear things - and come over to _my_ team. We could always use that _big_ Possible brain of yours."

The redhead's lip curled automatically at the idea. "I'm more about putting people back together, Troyer. I'm not too interested in blowing them apart."

"It speaks!" he gasped covering his mouth. "Well well well, this is an auspicious day indeed. A _big_ heartwarming smile, you running around like a six-year-old at recess… And you _actually_ gave me a clue about whatever the hell it is that you do. Gosh, is it my birthday?" He asked checking his wrist computer.

Kim sighed heavily and turned away. She'd been in such a good mood too, and then, like clockwork, Dez just _had_ to show up and be as big of an ass as usual. But he couldn't spoil this moment or her. No one could take this warm feeling of elation, of such emotional release away from her. God himself could come down and rain lightning down upon her, and she'd still feel so good. So _awesome_!

'_Awesome, because I did it. Finally. Eight years, and I did it. That Possible motto, right Dad? I did the impossible, and now…'  
_  
Her thoughts were cut off when she noticed Dez looking her in the eye, not a foot between them. Gone was his usual childish smirk, or the cruel little glint in his dark eyes. Now he was Dr. Troyer: his eyes were reading her, trying to figure her out, take her apart.

He frowned. His face didn't frown well, the expression was too stretched, too taut, it pulled his whole face down and removed all traces of his boyish charm.

"It's not fair, really." Desmond stated levelly as he stared Kim down. "I've been working here, _excelling_ here, for four years. In _four years_ I've successfully produced _and_ patented over _thirteen _AAPs that are now used in almost _every_ major global conflict. No one has had as high or as prestigious a success rate here as _me_."

He leaned forward, placing his right palm on the wall besides Kim's head; she could smell the coffee and his last cigarette on his breath. Her fists tensed at her sides. If he decided to get fresh with her again, he wouldn't be getting away with just a sprained wrist and black eye.

He continued, oblivious. "Y'see, despite all that, my _success_, how _very_ busy Hephaestus is, _your _Orpheus division has over _three times_ my budget, practically _unlimited_ resources _and_ access to _all_ the training fields. You've never even _used_ the damn fields!"

"But _why_, Kimberly? Just exactly _why_ are you the Director's little golden goose? You haven't produced _anything_! No results. _Nothing_ has come out of Orpheus since its _conception_!"

He was ranting now, a long rant she was more than familiar with. This time, the jealous scientist's words had likely been triggered by the grin he'd seen on her face. When she felt the first flecks of spittle hit her cheeks, she placed her hand onto his chest and pushed him, hard. He stumbled back, trying desperately to right himself before a suitcase directly level with his calves and gravity finally won out and tripped him hard, landing on his coccyx.

"The same song, Dezzy. Same boring tune. I've told you why already; my research is going to help billions, _forever_. _Your_ new windup toy, on the other hand, will be obsolete in a _year_. That's why I'm the Director's 'golden goose.' And by the way, _thirteen_? A _good_ scientist would've gotten it right the _first_ time. Get over yourself or jump off a building. I'll enjoy either one equally." She indulged in a rare stiff grin down at him, and walked back across the floor of the wide lift, savoring the groaning sound of Dez as he slowly made his way back to his feet.

Before he could say so much as one word the elevator display blinked, and the doors parted. Kim favored Troyer with one final glare. "After you, _Doctor_."

He smiled tightly and walked off, holding up his right middle and index finger in a "peace" sign before disappearing from sight.

Kim closed her eyes, slowly trying to mentally beat back the telltale sting of what was clearly destined to be a mother of a migraine. Really, _Bonnie Rockwaller_ had been more charming than Dez. But now, _now_ it was all coming up Possible. Because she knew who was waiting for her down in her lab.

The sheer memory of just a little over two hours ago spread warmth up and down her chest. Just anticipating it was like its own high. She caught herself swooning and stopped grinning like a girl with a crush. Then she stifled a giggle.

She cast a look at the massive pile of things behind her, and slowly her grin fell away. Perhaps grabbing a loading truck was in order…

* * *

Kim sat, staring at the white door, her grip twisting up and down the handle of the loading truck unconsciously.

Honestly, even now it didn't feel real. The knowledge that opening that door, _she_ would be standing there, look up, say something, _anything_. Her every action was a blessing, a gift, simply because it was so long anticipated, dreamed of… among other, slightly more _confusing_ feelings and sensations over the years... But that could wait! It _had_ to, there were much more important things to worry about.

Like the sinking feeling currently creating a large and insatiable vortex of despair inside Kim's gut. The possibility _was_ there, after all. There was always that not-so-slim chance that the process failed; that the most she managed was a temporary reactivation of cognitive functions and motor skills, and that when she opened that door, all that would be waiting on the other side would be a body lying still on the tiles.

It wouldn't be the first, time after all… All those _other_ failed startups. _Seventeen_ failed attempts resulting in little more than a body with base physical activity, good for little else but burning through blood. The first time that had happened, the feeling had been very nearly the worst Kim had ever felt. It hadn't been any easier the following sixteen times.

'_No! This is the first time cognizance and brain activity has been fully stimulated! I'm gonna open that door, and she's going to be fine! She's gonna look at me, smile, and say something rude. That's Shego, that's who you finally kept your promise to! You get it, Kim? It's gonna be no big!'_

There was a brief pause, before a slight giggle reached her lips. '"_No big?" God, how long's it been since I've said _that_?! Heh… That's the kind of thing that comes out of the mouths of dumb teenagers. How on Earth did I ever get away with that? "No big", "what's the sitch", "so not the drama?" "_Spankin'_?" Hell, it's no wonder she used to ride me so hard. I was practically _begging _for it. Really, only Ron was--'_

Her face turned into a frown and she glanced at her feet.

She shook her head, and without thinking, she reached forward and pressed her thumb hard against the door panel. With a hiss and a whoosh, the thick white barrier slid into the wall giving Kim an unobstructed view of the interior, specifically the lone occupant therein.

* * *

"Hey, Pumpkin. What was the holdup?"

Kim's eyes widened in delight as all her growing fears were again put to rest. She just stood there dumbly, slowly taking in every toned curve, every inch of pale gray-green flesh, the long mane of ebony locks framing a heart-shaped face. But past all that, she took in the life giving the figure motion. The expressions alight behind those electric green eyes.

It was almost hard to believe that for until 5:30am that morning, for the last eight years, four months, and three days, that perfect body was clinically deceased, laying silently and motionlessly in a containment capsule, absent of even the most basic cellular activity.

Literally dead. Dead for eight years straight.

'_But not anymore…'_

"Uh… Princess, you in there?" Shego asked, her smooth sultry voice laced with restrained amusement. Each word made Kim's heart flutter. She'd missed that voice most of all.

Trying to sort her maelstrom of jumbled thoughts and emotions, Kim forced a grin and stepped aside, revealing the overflowing hand-truck. "Here. Sorry it took me so long."

Quirking a dark eyebrow, Shego looked from the luggage and back over at Kim. "Um… OK. And _that_ is…?"

Kim smirked giddily, but she wasn't exactly sure why. "Your stuff."

"My… _stuff_? I have _stuff_?"

"Um… _duh_. All of these," she gestured at the pile, "are personal effects and such that GJ, y'know, picked up from your... _numerous_ safe houses over the last few years. Clothes, books, music, all that, um, stuff."

Shego frowned, processing that idea. She didn't like the thought of GJ actually _finding_ her safe houses; it was a shot to her pride if nothing else. But she especially didn't like the thought of them going through her personal belongings. It was... _creepy_. She looked up when she noticed Kim was still going on.

"--and so, it was all placed in storage all this time. Mostly because there wasn't much else to do with it. But now you're ali-- I mean, ah, now you're, um, back so… Well… I, uh..." She looked down at her hands sheepishly. She knew she was babbling like some vapid ninny, but, well, what was she supposed to say? She'd had this witty back-and-forth planned for almost seven years, this whole detailed spiel that Shego'd interrupt periodically so she could say something wittily appropriate to the situation and they would laugh and she would understand what Kim was saying and... But now, _now_ she couldn't recall a single damn word of it!

'_What am I supposed to say?! "Hey Shego, I'm so happy that I brought you back to life." Or, "how's it feel being not-dead again?" Or, "how was Heaven this time of year? God doing OK?" Ugh...'_ She suppressed a weak groan, but thankfully Shego didn't leave her to her inner conflict for too long.

"Oh thank _God_! I don't know _how_ much longer I could stand walking around in..." she said, gesturing to the thin slip that was her gown. "I mean, well… Okay, so I really _can't_ feel a draft, but under more ideal circumstances I'd be saying what I just... Yeah." She grinned, but the teeth behind those lips were interlocked razors, making the expression predatory, rather than jovial.

When she saw Kim's stunned gaze, her smile fell away, and an awkward silence settled over the room. Shego looked around for a moment, trying her best to think of something to say. Little came to mind, however. Eventually, she decided to just stick with the obvious.

"So… you were… seventeen, last I saw you? Now you're like, what, twenty-one?" She winced slightly. '_Yeah, Sheeg. Real ice breaker... Well, what am I _supposed _to say? Thank you, being dead was a real downer?! Argh!'_

Kim just shook her head, "No, I actually, well, I turned twenty-five about three months ago. Close, though." She smiled.

Shego gave a weak laugh. "Wow, twenty-_five_… my little princess is all grown up, huh? And a doctor to boot? Gotta say, Pumpkin, never would have figured that."

Kim laughed weakly and rubbed the back of her head, readjusting her glasses with her other hand. "Yeah, it's, um... it's been a trip."

"So…" Shego wiggled her finger in front of the bridge of her nose. "How long you been rockin' the sexy nerd look, hm?"

Blushing, Kim reached up and carefully eased her glasses off, slipping them in their case and then back into her pocket. "Maybe... four years? Give or take. You know what they say; staring at a screen for too long really will fuck up your eyes. I'm no exception."

Shego's expression tightened at the implication. There was something important hidden under that mildly self-depreciating statement. Something she couldn't ignore. But for now she filed it away in the mental folder ever more appropriately labeled as the "Weirdly Out-Of-Character Kim Possible" file along with the casual cursing.

The two settled into silence once again. Both mentally weighed the merits of an uncomfortable drawn-out pause versus an uncomfortable stilted conversation. Honestly, what was there to say? Society, movies, books, nothing at all was there to prepare each other for this situation; this was frontier weirdness on an epic scale.

Kimberly's eyes awkwardly scanned the room looking for something, anything, to distract herself with. Almost automatically, her eyes fell upon the monitor installed besides the transfusion receptacle. Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped past Shego and bent down to look over the readings, idly chewing her lower lip.

Shego frowned and approached, looking over the redhead's shoulder curiously. All the graphs, numerical values, and terms were Greek to her, but apparently they were causing Kim some mild concern from the look of it.

"What's up, Doc?"

Kim blinked, "Doc? Oh..." She frowned and shook her head. "Nothing's really wrong _per se_, but… I guess… Are you feeling any discomfort? Like stiffness, lag in your motor functions, sensory feedback?"

Shego regarded the doctor curiously for a moment. Where had that come from? "Why? What's that thing saying about me?"

Kim held her hands up, "Oh, it's just… well I, um…" she blushed lightly, not sure how to phrase this with any real tact. "I had to install a monitoring system, uh… inside you." She stopped to regard Shego's reaction. To her benefit, Shego remained silent, simply regarding Kim with a quirked eyebrow.

"…_And_? The hell's it _say_, Possible!?"

"Oh! Um, well… it, ah, says you're still only at, um, only sixty percent. Operational status, I mean. I knew it would be a gradual process of regeneration, but I'd hoped you'd be at _least_, well, eighty percent. By now, anyway. But..."

Shego just stared at her, her black lips slightly parted.

Kim's eyes widened in concern at her companion's sudden unresponsiveness, "…Shego? Are you...is there...?"

Shego shook her head, a small smile slowly parting across her face. "Ah, sorry, it's just… well, this is just sorta _tremendously_ fucked up, y'know?" She paced to the end of the room, looking down at the chair she'd reentered this world on. "I mean, honestly, think about it. The last thing I remember before this morning, the _very last thing_, was you and me out and watching the sunrise before I bought it." Her lips pulled tight and she looked at Kim.

"That's it. It barely feels like _yesterday_." She paced back over looking at the monitoring station, keeping her eyes on anything but the redhead. She knew she sounded hysterical, and maybe she was, just a little. But she felt it was justified.

"And then, then I wake up, and here you are, this… what are you, a _scientist_? A doctor or researcher or something? And _twenty-fucking-five_?! With _glasses_!" She slumped back down on the chair, not caring about the bad memories that she associated with it, for the moment. She turned her gaze up towards Kimberly.

"I just… I guess it just now is… kinda dawning on me. I guess... You know how _insane_ this feels?"

Kim regarded Shego, feeling oddly comforted by the D.E.A.D.'s admitted confusion. She'd actually been planning for this, a little, reading memoirs and transcripts, medical reports and scientific journals on the psychological state of coma patients waking up after years and finding that the world has moved on without them. Shego was a rather extreme case, but the redhead had some idea of how her mind was trying to sort and rearrange everything so it made some semblance of sense.

She approached Shego and placed her hand on the undead woman's shoulder, hoping the touch could reach through the unyielding flesh and provide the woman some degree of comfort. Shego barely felt it; she probably wouldn't have even registered it if she hadn't seen it. But the gesture was appreciated.

Suddenly, Shego quirked a sidelong gaze at Kim and asked wryly, "Waitaminute… You put _what_ in me?"

Kim couldn't help laughing slightly, covering her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook. She could feel her eyes begin to tear up, but the sudden sound of the door opening halted those happy tears in their ducts.

Shego blinked and looked up, regarding the newcomer, noting Kim's sudden harsh change of expression out of the corner of her gaze.

The woman who entered was dressed much the same as Kim herself. Long white lab coat, white blouse, glasses. Of course, the newcomer wore slacks and dress shoes rather than the skirt Kim favored. Her hair was dyed dark purple with the bangs grown out at length and the back cropped short. She appeared maybe a year or two older than Kim, but that may have simply been due to her severe tapered gray eyes.

"Dr. Possible," she stated with a light smooth voice, "I--"

"_Veronica_!" Kim snapped moving in front of Shego and crossing her arms.

"I explained this to you in _detail_. I was _not_ to be disturbed for _anything_ short of a _meltdown of the reactor core_! I said that, that's a _quote_: 'Do not disturb me, for _anything_ short of a total reactor meltdown.' I said that to you _three times_. And yet _here_ you are. Why? What could be so _indescribably_ important that it absolutely _could not_ wait for _five Goddamn minutes_!?"

Shego was stunned into silence at the _very_ uncalled-for response from the once preppy and painfully cheerful teenager. Shego expected this kind of overly bitch-tastic behavior from-- from _herself_! Not from _Kim Possible_, of all people!

'_Maybe Aunt Flow came a-knockin' and brought her whole damn family. That'd explain it, right?'_

Kim's apparent verbal abuse slid off Veronica like water off a duck's back.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Dr. Possible. I haven't forgotten about your standing instructions regarding your handling of the, ahem…" She looked at Shego briefly like she was a pathogen in a petri dish, causing the green thief to return the look with a sneer. "The _subject_. However, the Director was _very_ specific in instructing me to give you a message."

The woman paused, barely acknowledging the harsh look Kim was sending her way, or even the undead thief beside her.

"Well?" Kim asked impatiently, "Go on! What does that... _she_ want?"

"She is concerned that you've severed your connection with the commsnet. It's a severe breach of security protocol 124--"

"Is that _all_?" Kim cut her off flippantly. "Because if it is, then you've completely wasted our time - time which, as you can so plainly see, should not be wasted. I'm not taking or receiving any calls. _Any_. You can tell her that. I _won't _be disturbed right now. Not by anything less than an act of God."

Veronica shook her head. "I'm afraid she was very insistent that you get in contact with her immediately. It was not a request." She looked directly into Kim's moss eyes, her pink lips pressed thin.

"Oh, and Dr. Possible, if I may be so bold... The Director very nearly _is_ God as far as _you're_ concerned. And she gave you an order. There, Dr. Possible, is your _act_."

Shego noticed Kim's fists curled tightly as she regarded the purple-haired woman across from her, wondering if she should say something or keep quiet. More importantly, she was curious why she cared in the first place.

"I got it." Kim said darkly. "Tell her I'll be up there _personally_ in ten minutes."

"Doctor, she insisted--"

"_Ten minutes, Veronica_!" Kim snapped.

The woman regarded Kim silently for a moment, before nodding and turning away, disappearing out the door without another word.

Shego stood and walked up to Kim, grabbing her shoulder and turning her around roughly, parting her bangs away and looking over her forehead curiously.

"Shego!" Kim cried, trying to wriggle away, "What are you _doing_?!"

Shego turned her emerald eyes back down towards Kim's, looking somewhat put off.

"Me? Oh, nothin' much. Just wondering how they managed to conceal your lobotomy scar so perfectly. Cosmetic surgery sure is a pretty amazing deal these days. _Doc_."

Kim pulled away, self-consciously touching her forehead. "What the hell are you going on about?! Lobotomy? What?!"

Shego crossed her arms, "That bitch-from-hell act just a second ago with what's-her-chops. Not that she wasn't, y'know, unpleasant, but _Jesus Christ_! What'd she do, kill and eat your puppy?"

Frowning, the doctor matched Shego's pose, though she appeared far less confident. "She just… I mean…"

She trailed off, unsure and unable to go any further. Her cheeks colored slightly and she reached into her pocket, drawing out her glasses and playing with the frames.

"We just don't… get along. Um, well. I guess is the best way to... yeah." she finally answered weakly.

Shego looked her over long and hard before sighing and leaning against the nearest wall. "Eh, whatever. I got enough to worry about as it is, with the, uh, the dead... thing. So, Doc, enlighten me. Where is this place? Actually, scratch that, we'll get back to it. Who's this "Director" chick?"

When Kim paled and looked down at her feet, Shego's eyes narrowed. She had some idea, a vague tingling at the back of her mind. But honestly, until now, she was banking on it being simple paranoia. She decided to answer her own question.

"My stuff, this high-tech shit, _me_…" She walked up and lowered her head so that their noses were scarcely an inch apart.

"This facility… it's on Global Justice's payroll. Isn't it? Be honest."

Chewing her lip, Kim hugged her arms tighter around each other. "…Yeah… yeah it is. I'm sorry, Shego."

Shego tensed but Kim cut her off before she could say anything on the matter.

"But that's not all."

"Oh. _Good_. I was afraid I might be, y'know, only _mildly_ unhappy. Good to know there's further to fall. Jesus, Kim..."

Kim nodded apprehensively, reaching up and taking one of Shego's hands. Her expression looked upset.

"The current Director… her name… is Candis Du."

* * *

Night outside the Middleton high security correctional facility was usually relatively busy. For all its peaceful quiet surroundings, all manner of psychopath and supervillain were locked tightly within the mammoth facility of steel and concrete.

Forcefields and automated stun turrets built with some of the most hair-trigger AI targeting systems ever conceived were scattered and hidden throughout the perimeter, as well as pressure sensitive capture traps.

Some, even _most_, would consider such security measures a tad excessive, or even downright insane. However, most prisons didn't have to keep some of the most deadly and maniacal minds on the planet from running riot. There were some inmates who could construct high explosives out of dish detergent and play dough, or martial artists capable of felling entire teams of armed personnel with their bare paws. And that wasn't even _considering_ the occasional meta-human thief who, for all intents and purposes, had plasma cannons built directly into her fists.

Yes, the guards were pretty happy with their overbearing security; it kept them out of traction. For the last several years, however, the facility had become remarkably tame. Aside from the occasional breakout or riot, of course.

Most attributed this change to the fact that almost all the major problem inmates were long dead. And for that, the staff couldn't have been happier.

* * *

They stood before the heavy metal gateway barring the entrance to the Penitentiary. Both regarded the heavy doors thoughtfully, ignoring the two steadily cooling bodies behind them.

One of the poor sentries had merely been decapitated, the throat twisted around like a corkscrew, the right leg still twitching disjointedly. The head lay only three feet away, frozen in a look of maddening fear and pain, his eyes bulging, coagulated blood drying around the rim of the eye sockets. His mouth had frozen open in mid-scream, tongue swollen purple and poking free.

The other was... harder to identify. It was less a corpse, and more a steaming pile of red jelly, with white crumbled fragments scattered throughout. It was as though the guard had been caught in a pneumatic press. Formless, crushed and pulverized.

"Was… _that_ absolutely necessary, dear boy?" the shorter man asked; his gray upper lip pulled back in disgust revealing curved tusk-like canines. "Not that I wish to _forgo_ any carnage, as my own victim shall attest, but that seemed excessive."

His companion snorted and shrugged enormous shoulders. Blood stained his tightly clenched metallic blue fists. "**NOT CARE. FANGORAM WANTS THIS JOB DONE QUICKLY. FANGORAM THINKS THIS IS **_**STUPID**_**."**

"Stupid?!" His companion barked in outrage, "This is brilliant! What better way to accomplish my-- Excuse me, _our_ goals?!"

"**FANGORAM NOT HAVE **_**GOALS**_**. DEADMEN **_**HAVE NO**_** GOALS."**

His simian companion hissed out under his breath, "I have... _goals_…"

He took a moment to recompose himself before his eyes, almost totally obscured by ash-gray bangs, turned and gazed at the heavy transparent capsule nearly filled to the brim with shining bluish-white fluid. Almost instinctually, a chill ran up his spine as he found his gaze being drawn into its soulless blue shine.

"And how is our mutual… benefactor?"

Were it possible, Fangoram would have grimaced. "**HUNGRY. WANTS US TO HURRY."**

Beady black eyes narrowed irritated, "Well, it'd best be patient; I'm not going to pander to its desires. This is _my_ game, this is _my_ stage."

"**FANGORAM STILL THINKS THIS IS STUPID! NO NEED THIS! YOU AND FANGORAM, MORE THAN ENOUGH, STUPID MONKEY-MAN!"**

"_ENOUGH_!" Fist roared, more than fed up with his partner's constant disparaging. "We alone may be more than adequate for fulfilling our goals, but this is _not_ about the end result, this is about how we get there! Our methods mean everything! The methods _are_ everything!"

Fangoram scraped his teeth together, but didn't dispute.

Fist turned and placed an armored right hand firmly against the thick steel door. Not bothering to retrieve the keycard from the dead guards, he flexed his arm and pushed. With almost no resistance, the heavy doors ripped free of their foundation and fell inward with a resounding crash. The noise was immediately punctuated by the intense wailing of alarms throughout the prison bringing the entire facility of full alert.

Totally ignoring the din, Fist began to make his way inside the now unobstructed portal, but then paused, turning his gaze towards his colossal companion. "Well, make haste, dear boy, we've a reunion to attend."

"**YOU STILL THINK THIS GOOD IDEA?"** Fang asked.

Fist grinned. "Of course not. This idea is awful and vile and totally outside the realm of human decency… It's a bloody _excellent_ idea!"

The two stared at one another silently. Then, with a low rumble, Fangoram easily hoisted up the icy blue capsule and joined the simian-like martial artist as they entered.

Fist grinned as he stepped within the familiar corridor, seeing crowds of guards fully armed with riot gear spilled out to meet them. A wicked grin pulled along his gray face.

"Hello, gentlemen… Monty's back."

* * *

Chapter 1: End

* * *

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to my beta-reader Ffordesoon. And also Google Documents. Without which we would never have been able to pull of our ****Amazing Google Docs Double Team Explosion Of Death. XD**


	3. 2 Something Wicked This Way Comes

_Standard Legal Mumbo Jumbo: I don't own Kim Possible, trust me, you'd see a big difference if I did. I also don't own Gungrave: Overdose, or any and all Robert Frost poetry. Honestly, anyone who thinks I do needs to read the first installment of this series._

Fire and Ice 

**Chapter 2: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

**

* * *

**

The heat was stifling, but that was no surprise. It had been just as hot the day before, and the day before that. In fact, aside from the storm a week and a half ago, it'd been this hot for the entirety of the month Monty had been in Bombay.

It might have been more bearable if he hadn't been confined to the mansion with a book shoved under his nose from sunup to sundown. Or even if he could just shed his coat and open his shirt up... But no, that wasn't a possibility. That was _never_ a possibility. After all, "A Fiske must always look his best."

He sighed and dutifully continued down the wide hallway, past the occasional maid or manservant going about their daily duties, all of them making _very_ sure to avoid eye contact with the young master. None wished to risk upsetting his father by stepping beyond their bounds. The elder Fiske was known for being quite heavy handed with his treatment of the servants, and seemed to have one sacked and replaced once a month. It apparently made the others work that much harder.

Monty held in another sigh and continued his slow walk towards the study, hoping desperately that he didn't appear to be dragging his feet too much. As always, it was another several hours with the tutor, and then dinner, hopefully dinner alone. The last thing he wanted to deal with were those beady dark eyes watching and assessing his every action when all he wanted was to finish his soup.

In truth, all Monty wanted was to return to the family estate in London. He ached for it. This country was hot and sticky and dull. And while he had always taken to languages with relative ease, he didn't grasp the point of it; he never got to talk to anyone anyway. At least in London the weather was better.

"Montgomery."

The deep, even voice behind him stopped Monty dead in his tracks. It was a calm and even tone, but underneath it was a hidden edge. It was like each word was a threat wrapped in velvet. Slowly, stiffly, with the obedience of a soldier, Monty turned to face the large shadow looming over him.

"Y-y-yes, Father?" he managed to stammer out. Even after thirteen years, he still couldn't help but fall into that same annoying speech impediment when faced with his father's full attention. Though he was at least pleased that seven years of corrective elocution lessons meant his father was the only one who could still bring it out of him.

The elder Fiske simply looked down at his son, his whole body radiating authority and confidence. Monty may have had several reasons to be scared to death of the man, but he still envied that sense of power.

"Montgomery," he began, "I understand that you've become quite… dedicated, recently."

Monty nodded slightly. He knew what his father was referring to. At the manor in London, he would often run off with whichever servant boy close to his own age he could force into whatever adventure or game he thought up. Ever since he and his father had come to India, however, Monty had had little choice but to focus solely on his studies.

His playmates were inevitably sacked the moment word reached his father, but Monty didn't allow himself to shed any tears over it. After all, they were just servants, and he had wanted to be served. But there were only adults at the Bombay residence, and they were lousy for games. So there was little to do but study.

His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed, I am quite pleased that you're beginning to understand your role. I had begun to feel that having you prepared as my heir was… a matter worth reexamining."

Monty winced, but he knew better than to speak after many painful lessons on the matter.

"As you have no doubt been informed, I will be away for several days. In an ideal world, I would take you with me to learn from my example. However, this is _not_ an ideal world, and so I have decided that you are to remain here in my stead. Bates shall remain here as well, thus allowing for a measure of supervision."

Rubbing his lips together, Monty wasn't sure if he was being baited into asking why, or if it was better to simply remain silent and silently rejoice at the temporary reprieve. He settled on the latter option, which turned out to be the correct one.

The elder Fiske looked Monty over one more time, then nodded slightly. Reaching behind him, he retrieved a brown leather bag and placed it on the ground in front of Monty. The boy eyed the bag warily, glancing back up at his father every few seconds.

"Open it."

Nervously, the boy leaned down and fidgeted with the bronze clasp until it finally snapped open. A black and white blur shot out from the dark and slammed hard against Monty's chest. The young boy screamed in horror and fell back hard onto the floor, then slowly bent his head forward to look at whatever horrible thing his father had just unleashed on him.

He found: a pair of round curious eyes looking up into his in wonderment, two pairs of leather paws gripping and crawling up and down the folds of his coat, and a thin black tail swinging back and forth. He stood up just as slowly, still half-convinced the creature's warm demeanor was a deception. Monty couldn't hold back his smile at the sight of the little monkey as it skittered up his body, finally coming to a rest on his shoulder. It rubbed its tiny head against his much larger one, squeaking its devotion.

It was quite a distraction, and Monty actually almost missed the sound of his father clearing his throat in warning. He had ignored his father for a moment! Only a minute ago, he would have thought such an act impossible. Reflexively, Monty shot straight to his feet, doing his level best to put the sensation of the little monkey tugging on his right ear out of his mind.

"I see you enjoy him. Think of him as some incentive to continue this degree of dedication." His father stated plainly. "Am I clear? Do not make me regret this, Montgomery."

Monty nodded quickly. "I un-understand, F-Father. Thank you."

His eyes widened when his father, who had already began to turn and make his way down the hall, stopped suddenly. His wide shoulders tensed rigidly. He walked back to his terrified son at an intimidating pace, then knelt down so their eyes were level. He placed his hand on the shoulder of his son that was not currently occupied by a primate.

"A Fiske never thanks _anyone_, Montgomery. We simply take what we deserve and have earned. When you thank someone, you admit to the weaker position. And weakness is _always_ unacceptable." The fingers on Monty's shoulder started digging into his soft flesh, and he could feel tears begin to sting the corners of his eyes.

"Do you understand, Monkey-man?"

"Yes, Father, I―p-p-pardon?" Monty blinked. What had his father just called him? But the grip on his shoulder shook, again and again.

"_Monkey-Man_!" There it was, that name again! Only this time the voice was deeper, so much deeper, and impossibly rough. And the awful shaking continued, this time gaining force.

And suddenly everything was dark, and everything was red. And the looming shadow that had been his father continued to shake him back and forth, threatening to pull his arm from its socket.

**"MONKEY-MAN!"**

Until he lost his balance and slammed hard into the wall. The thick metal of his gauntlets clanked loudly against the steel surrounding them both.

**"WAKE UP, MONKEY-MAN. TIRED OF STUPID DAYDREAMING!"** came Fangoram's impossibly rough and deep roar. His beady eyes bore deep into Monkey Fist's own.

Glancing around in confusion, the erstwhile Montgomery Fiske could see gore and limbs piled to the ceiling. The air smelled of smoke and copper, a scent thick enough to suffocate. The walls surrounding them were dented porous scraps, with some bodies rammed through halfway. Chipped and cracked fragments of riot gear and spilled steaming bowels lined the floor, even beneath his armored paws. The alarm was still screaming at him, drowning out any coherent thoughts.

Looking down at his hands, he saw them slathered in dripping blood, tangled sinew stuck between the metal jointed fingers.

_Oh sodding Hell… don't tell me…_

Turning to Fangoram, who stood over him in annoyance, filthy with human remains. "I blanked out through the _whole bloody fight_?!" roared Fist.

Fangoram shrugged his enormous shoulders and turned, hauling back up the substance container. **"FIST WAS HERE, AND NOT HERE. KILL MORE THAN FANGORAM."**

_Here and not here… I'm sick and tired of skirting both at once… Eight years and I'm still not just _here_._ His dark eyes narrowed. He reached into the tall pile of cooling human meat, shifting bodies around in annoyance until he found what he was looking for. This one had merely died from being struck too hard against the floor. The body's clothes were mostly unsoiled by blood and other organic filth. He tore the poor soul's shirt off completely, using it to wipe himself clean as best he could, cleaning between each finger joint and wrinkle of his dark gray coat. Thankfully, the material was waterproofed, or the gesture would have been pointless.

He looked up suddenly, noticing that his enormous ally had set down the container and was now rifling through his own pile. Fang finally grunted in satisfaction and pulled free his catch; a somewhat-deformed pack of cigarettes. Without pause, he opened the pack and bit down on the unfiltered cancer stick contentedly, pulling it free and lighting it with the zippo found in the pack. The long drag he took immediately reduced the cigarette to ash. He then moved on to the next, deciding to savor this one.

Fist could only stare. The sight of this huge blue… _thing_, surrounded by a virtual mountain of prison guard corpses, standing there and sucking on that tiny cigarette… If he hadn't snapped years ago, he certainly would have done so now. "What in _blazes_ do you think you're doing?!"

**"TASTE GOOD."**

Monkey Fist nodded without really knowing why. "Hmph, yes, well. Bully for you, then."

* * *

Kim could hear the cacophony blaring from the current director of Global Justice's office long before she saw the door.

The air pulsed with the dissonance of various news segments in a vast assortment of languages, all speaking over one another as they reported news that ran the gamut from the severe to the mundane. There were excited voices of game show hosts, nature documentary narrators, Internet podcasts, and even a few recognizable cartoon characters' squeaky caricature voices polluting the air around her with unfiltered information.

Kim frowned deeply at the pervasive din and quickened her pace down the corridor, at the end of which there was a rather impressive chrome entryway. Her dress shoes clacked hard against the steel beneath her with each frustrated step.

The chaotic sounds filling the gunmetal corridor still weren't loud or distracting enough to drown out Kim's own bitter, hateful thoughts.

_The single greatest concentrated stockpile of international resources on the entire fucking globe, and _she_ can't be bothered to soundproof her own damn office! Jesus! _

To be fair, one needed full security confirmation, a set of regularly switched out access codes, and visual identification from the Director to even _enter_ Sector A of the Millennium Complex. And she had been ever-so-smugly granted that just minutes before.

So the only people being bothered by these sounds, then, were the unlucky souls who'd been granted the "privilege" of an audience with one of the most powerful individuals on the planet.

Kim, of course, could have cared less about any of that. Her mind was currently focused on more important things, chief among them her recently reanimated ex-arch foe―or perhaps _late_ arch foe was the more accurate term. Semantics aside, she really needed to get back to Shego ASAP. One did not bring a woman back to life after eight long years simply to leave her alone with her thoughts.

Kim couldn't even imagine what was going through Shego's mind right now. Especially after she had dropped that bombshell about Candis on her only minutes earlier.

After hearing that the sister of the man she had shredded into bits now ran Global Justice - and from an office in this very facility - the late thief had simply stood stock still for a brief moment, taken a few steps back, and flopped back down onto her transfusion chair, saying nothing more than:

"Well, ain't that just the damndest thing."

Kim wasn't able to get much of anything out of Shego after that. She had seemed far more interested in the metal between her slippers than on the concerned redhead looking over her.

_I should be back there. I never should have left, Goddamn it! Not now. _Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses and her lip curled back slightly.

_Is this Candis' way of tugging the leash? I already know the setup. I'll jump through _all_ the hoops she wants_ after _I finish with Shego! Oh, but that's not good enough, is it, Candis? "Sit, Kim! Stay! Roll over―good girl! Now you get to go back to work as your treat!" What utter crap..._

After what seemed an eternity of headache-inducing noise and bitter thoughts vying for her attention, Kim reached the large automatic doors. Their surfaces reflected her sour expression back at her. She sighed and pushed her glasses back to the top of the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to try and settle her mood.

She reached for the intercom to announce her presence. But as always, the doors slid open with that villainous "Vwhoosh!" Seor Senior Senior had liked so much.

Kim set her jaw and stepped beyond the threshold, into the chaos that was the office of Candis Jing Du.

The office was enormous and spacious, more like a conference room spaced to comfortably sit well over fifty bodies than a single person's workspace. Its size was made all the more jarring by the fact that, aside from the single large metal desk at the end of the room, it was void of any furniture. This forced any visitors to stand around uncomfortably, something that Kim was sure Candis enjoyed.

Along the walls were holographic displays that cycled through various media, from blogs to news sites to television channels, never staying on the same image for more than a minute. The room had originally been constructed as a monitoring station, built for the express purpose of cycling through media to try and pick up woven-in codes, subversive messages, or the occasional subliminal mind control signal.

It had been decommissioned during the tenure of Betty Director, but Candis had insisted on this space as the perfect spot for her office. No one was sure why she would choose to surround herself with such discord, but it was Kim's firm belief that Candis used the room specifically because it unbalanced and intimidated people.

She marched to the desk and glared down at the lone occupant of the office.

Candis was a small and slight woman, barely above five feet in height, with short black hair clipped down at the base of her neck. Her features were more obviously Chinese than her brother's, and Kim thought she looked closer to an older and smaller Yori than a female Will Du.

Throughout Kim's tenure at Millennium, she had never actually seen Candis wear the Global Justice Uniform as her predecessor had, and even now, the woman was wearing a modestly cut navy blue business suit. The only noticeable marker of her GJ affiliation was a modest bronze badge fashioned after the GJ logo and pinned to her lapel.

"Mute," said the Director.

The room was suddenly silent.

Candis briefly looked Kim up and down, then began to speak. "It's been awhile since you and I have had a chance to discuss your progress, Doctor Possible," she stated calmly, her words laced with the faintest hint of disapproval.

"And considering that you've _finally_ achieved your first notable breakthrough since you arrived here, I felt that now was the time to do so."

Kim glared at the woman and placed her hands on her hips, not minding that her glasses were sliding down slightly with the abrupt motion, "Well, I am deeply sorry to disappoint you, Madam Director, but now is actually _not_ a good time. It is, in point of fact, the _worst possible_ time to discuss this. But, you know, I'm _glad_ I could satisfy your entirely inconvenient whims. Now, if it's not too much trouble, may I go back down to the lab and resume the work that you pay me to do? _Thank you_."

She pushed her glasses up and spun around, about to march off. Candis's voice halted her. "If you hadn't severed your ComNet connection, we would be having this discussion in the comfort of our respective workstations. I abhor wasted time, you know that. But you had to force my hand."

Her expression tightened, "Now, you _will_ come back here and give your report. Doctor."

Gritting her teeth, Kim mentally counted to ten and turned around, walking back over to the desk and meeting her employer's eyes. They stared at one another for almost a minute. Finally, Kim gave in and took a breath.

"At 05:00 PM today I initiated the Ver. 12 forced cell regenesis on Reanimator 01, Shego, real name: Magdalena Ashley Vincent, twenty-three years old at time of death. At 05:20 PM I began seeing noticeable spikes in Reanimator 01's brain activity readings." Kim stopped and licked her lips, trying to keep from involving herself in the recent memories in front of the Director.

It was easier to simply recite the words if she didn't think about the weight behind each one.

"And at 05:30 PM Reanimator 01 regained cognitive ability and as of right now _that_ is the current situation," she stated flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest and added an annoyed, "May I go _now_?"

Candis looked down at the desk's surface, her expression vacant for a moment, then looked back up at Kim.

"That information is irrelevant."

Kim's eyes widened; she wasn't sure she'd heard right. Candis continued on all the same. "I didn't hire you because I wanted to see if it was possible for you to take a Class S wanted fugitive - a wanted fugitive who single-handedly decimated this organization, by the way - and bring her back from the grave."

"That is merely a side project that I allowed you to proceed with because it is related to your research and focusing on it seems to keep you motivated. But when I ask you to give me an update on your progress, I am decidedly _not_ referring to your little pet obsession."

She stood back up and leaned in close, her brown eyes wrestling with Kim's olive. "I'm referring to Panacea. And _that_ is all I care to hear about from you."

Kim's lip curled, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "I thought you assigned me your little spy so it didn't matter if I told you anything or not."

Candis leaned back slightly and regarded Kim with mild annoyance, "If Veronica wishes to keep me apprised, it's because she cares about your research. Perhaps as much as you do."

Her expression hardened. "I'm certain you don't believe me, but I also don't care whether you do or not. All I want from you is your report."

Tapping her shoe lightly on the carpet, Kim sighed and lowered her head slightly, her bangs obscuring her eyes. "No progress. Well, no real progress. Wade thinks we've cracked 0.000000001 percent of its command/control matrix with our current system, but Doctor Flanner is skeptical."

"And what does she think?" Candis asked calmly.

Kim frowned. "She... she thinks there is no progress to be made."

The Director nodded and thought that over for a moment. "Now that you've had success with your other project, perhaps you can give Panacea your undivided attention. One hopes Doctor Flanner's assessment will prove... premature."

Kim nodded, ignoring the sensation of her nails digging into her palm. "Am I dismissed?"

Candis stared at her thoughtfully. She finally nodded and sat back down, turning her attention to the work at her desk.

Kim was nearly out of the room when Director Du called after her. "Congratulations, by the way. Give Ms. Vincent my regards."

Kim breath caught in her throat, and she turned back to the desk expecting to see the Director's accusatory gaze directed her way. But Candis was still focused on the documents and paying her no mind.

For a moment, Kim thought she noticed the space behind the director shift, the colors distorting ever so slightly, but she chalked it up to her nerves. She was out of the room and nearly running back to her lab moments after.

* * *

Several minutes alone in her office passed as Candis continued to pretend to focus on the documents in front of her. When she saw Kim's form swiftly retreating from her sector on one of the screens, she gave a shuddered breath and spoke.

"Was that all you needed to hear?"

The air to her right shifted and bent, and out of the corner of her eye Candis could see the rippling distortion was vaguely human in shape as it moved. While she could not see it with any clarity, she could feel its weight settle as it sat at her desk.

When the second voice spoke, it was young and feminine and had a relatively understated haughtiness accompanying its words. "Well, she's definitely changed. The Kim Possible I remember didn't even vaguely resemble _her_."

Candis smirked slightly. "You sound quite sure. I fail to see why. You two were not exactly what most would consider close." Her right eye twitched almost imperceptibly. _Idiot! Nearly slipped there._

"Be that as it may," said the clearly annoyed spatial distortion, "my employer, Mr. Senior, has been a _very_ generous supporter of this project and yourself for some time now. And he has recently brought up some very real concerns."

The Director's eyes narrowed, but her voice remained clear and calm. "You can tell Mr. Senior that I know what he's implying and that he has no leverage to force my hand. Also, be sure to remind him that any apparent 'generosity' on his part has already been reciprocated at least three times over."

A slight chuckle came out of the thin air at Candis's side, but when the voice spoke again it was far from jovial. "Regardless, you personally are still deep in his pocket. You wouldn't even be in that chair were it not--"

Candis cut the invisible woman off harshly. "The last thing I need to hear is a history lesson from _you_."

"Heh. But on a similar note, don't you think that Possible is no longer qualified to complete this project? It's been quite a long time for us not to see any appreciable success on her part. She's been working on this for how long now? And what does she have to show for it, if anything?"

Frowning, Candis turned back towards her desk. "Then you haven't been paying any attention."

She stood and made her way over to one of the media screens. After taking a moment to clear her throat, she stated calmly, "Sector T, basement floor 3, lab 4. Now."

The screen clicked on, then cut to a color HDCCTV feed of Doctor Possible's lab. Its only current occupant was a tall woman with a head of long and impossibly dark black hair. She had pale green skin, and was wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The woman was currently looking over several discarded piles of clothing at her feet, and shifting them out of the way to go over even more from the numerous boxes and suitcases around her. They could see her dark black lips moving as she sorted through the clutter but there was no sound accompanying the image.

Looking the woman over, Candis felt her heartbeat suddenly pick up its pace but she ignored it as best she could.

"Slow zoom to crop on subject tagged MA_Vincent003," barked Candis. The camera began to zoom in on the woman, then stopped just before her foot went out of frame.

"Do you know what this is?" the Director asked calmly, making a vague motion towards the image of the woman in front of them. "Yesterday, it was a corpse being kept in storage, nothing but lifeless meat. It displayed not even the most basic hint of life. That woman there has been dead for over eight years."

Candis frowned and her voice became slightly more guarded. "Doctor Possible brought her back. With nothing but a flash drive of unintelligible notes and the will to do so, she has done something previously thought not just impossible but _insane_ by every reputable scientist on Earth."

Candis smiled, briefly overwhelmed by the enormity of the discovery. "Even ignoring the numerous spiritual implications, one fact, one _incredible_ fact, remains: Kimberly Ann Possible has irrefutably proven that there can be life after death."

Candis switched off the security feed. After a moment spent digesting the gravity of the Director's statement, the cloaked figure finally spoke up again. "I will admit, that's impressive, even if the result is… slightly less than ideal. But I'm afraid I fail to see how that so-called achievement is relevant given what her actual project entails."

"It's a start," Candis added curtly. "And if she could do that, then I have full confidence that the crafting of Panacea is soon in coming. I'd bet my life on it."

"You _are_," the air responded callously. "And she's just as likely to fail as to succeed, Ms. Du. You should know better than most that _nobody_ is perfect."

Candis's smile suddenly distorted into a cruel smirk. "That's a rather ironic statement, considering the source."

The distortion shifted, and suddenly it stood over the Director, as imposing as an invisible shape could manage. Candis felt a hand on her shoulder, its fingernails stopped just short of digging into her flesh. She looked up and stared straight into the presumable eyes of her invisible company.

"A lot can change in eight years, so don't go judging me by your standards," the hidden woman stated bitterly.

Candis casually shrugged the hand off and stepped away, turning her attention to the hundreds of muted, but still active, images wallpapering her office.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, slightly fatigued. "I have a lot to get to today."

The distortion made a movement Candis interpreted as a slight nod. "There is, in fact, one other thing. Mr. Senior wants you to assign one of his more trusted personnel to Sector T. He feels that Kim Possible requires a closer set of eyes than you can provide here."

"Veronica Lawless--"

"Is neither trusted nor confided in," the voice cut off. "See to it that this person is integrated into the database, and I'll take care of the rest."

Candis moved back to her desk and took her seat, considering the voice's proposal. "Just being down in Sector T is not enough. This person needs to be able to carry their own weight."

"Again, that's for me to worry about." The distortion's tone changed suddenly, becoming more jovial. "So don't worry, _Candy_. Compared to Panacea, this is the easy part." She heard the voice chuckle to itself and suddenly go silent, leaving the Director alone with her thoughts.

Candis didn't need to look up to know she was suddenly alone. She took a shuddered breath and reached into her desk drawer. A moment later she retrieved a small red inhaler. She considered the small device for a moment, but then sighed and placed in back in her desk, slamming the drawer shut with more force then was necessary.

"Candy, is it?" she asked the air around her.

* * *

Shego groaned once again as she heard the fabric rip _again_.

With a labored sigh, she pulled her arm out from her sleeve and glowered at what had been one of her favorite black cotton tops.

She scrutinized the piece of fabric in her hands once more, as if attempting to turn it back into a proper shirt using only her mind. Then, with a sigh, she tossed the ruined shirt onto a steadily growing pile of same, the 100% cotton carcasses laying slightly to the right of her transfusion seat. Her mood grew bitterer and bitterer with each new piece of dusty, ill-fitting clothing.

_Gosh, this is fun,_ Shego thought to herself as she began to sort through for something new to try on.

_And to think, I never once considered that buying so many tight clothes would come back to bite me in my now-probably-very-manly ass._ She smirked humorlessly as she continued to sort through the mess.

_Well, I sure know better now. Always plan for the remote possibility that you'll be blown to bits and brought back as She-Hulk. Seems obvious in retrospect._

She sighed and pulled out a baggy gray sweater she had exclusively reserved for what she had called her "mental health days." Said days had mostly been spent napping or reading or whatever other indoor activity suited her fancy and didn't force her to waste energy and time prettying herself up.

The seams were well-worn; that was a testament to how often Shego had taken those mental health days before…

_Before the end, right?_ Shego thought to herself. She frowned and shook her head.

_Not the end, not the end, _not the end_! You're still here, you stupid bitch, and still alive… sort of._ She tried to maintain the illusion, but thinking those thoughts only did so much good if she didn't believe any of it.

Doing her best to shove her maddening thoughts out of the way, Shego dug through the various articles of clothing, determined not to stop until she found something that _wasn't_ obviously out of the question.

Tight shirts, faded jeans, evening wear, some of her racier nightgowns… they were not even worth trying on. It'd taken her a little while, probably due to a strong degree of denial on her part, but she was finally getting a sense of what would fit her and what would not.

Sadly, her hundreds of pairs of underwear, running the gamut from comfortable to sexy, were all right the hell out. It was heartbreaking having to throw out all of her expensive unmentionables like that. Or rather, it would have been, if it didn't attest to her possession of even more impressive chest than she'd had during her breathing days.

Compared to all the things she'd had to give up, bigger boobs were a crappy consolation prize. Having a great rack, or a nicer build in general, did not exactly make up for being a numb corpse girl.

If anything, it merely drove home just how unfamiliar Shego was with her own body.

_You don't miss your pulse 'til it's gone,_ Shego mused to herself. She finally found herself a pair of cotton sweatpants that matched her sweater and pulled them on, securing them tightly to her waist with the sash. She was lucky she'd bought them baggy or they'd have come up too short.

_Now if only I could find some fucking underwear in my size, or at the very least some panties. Going commando didn't work for me before, and it certainly doesn't now…_

Shego frowned and checked herself out one more time. There were no mirrors in this room, but she really needed one.

When she'd first been reanimated, she had not been in the most healthy mental state. As Mayhem, she had been hard-pressed to care about cutting people in half, let alone how she looked. If she'd cared, she would certainly have done something about that choppy dyke-cut Drakken had given her. Thinking about it now, Shego realized she had almost no idea what she looked like at the moment.

Looking down at herself, she could tell she was at least a few inches taller, and her muscles had never popped out like they did now. But if those had been the only changes, she wouldn't have felt nearly as self-conscious and awkward as she did.

She raised her right hand and examined the still unfamiliar digits. Each and every one of her fingers ended in an inch-long curved talon, not a nail. They looked more like solid bone than keratin. She pinched the air, and the sound of her index finger tapping her thumb was a disconcerting click, not unlike two marbles colliding. After that, she tried curling her fingers into a fist. The resultant sound was sort of like hearing several pins being dragged across a piece of leather. If her skin hadn't become so tough, she wouldn't have ever been able to make a proper fist again.

Her eyes moved down to her wrist and were greeted with a pair of new additions. There were two tiny metal rings embedded in the skin above her major arteries. Or rather, where her major arteries had been.

Their purpose was obvious enough. If - or rather _when_ - she needed a transfusion, the person giving it to her could just plug the tubes in instead of having to shove in the thick needles. Reaching up, she could feel similar plugs along either side of her neck and ankles.

_Well, guess I better look into some bracelets or collars… Not too big a thing, particularly considering how much my old uniform used to cover._ She looked down at the discard pile, noting the dessicated remains of several of her uniforms.

It was heartbreaking seeing them in that pile, tossed aside like an old prom dress. They were the lightest, most durable, and above all the most expensive body armor available. At the time, anyway. And she had gotten to design the color scheme. That was the only reason she'd kept them after going rogue.

Hego had pitched a fit when she'd given him that ultimatum. She'd only be a member of his little band of idiots if she got to design the costumes. It had been back during her fashion designer phase, when she'd been young and stupid. Hego had wanted a Superman outfit with an "H" on it...

_Heh. Y'know, all things considered, I was one seriously fickle kid. Adventurer, fashion designer, police officer, hero_ - she scoffed and tossed another shirt on the large pile behind her - _teacher… that one almost stuck too, God forbid. But nothing seemed quite as comfortable a fit as being a supervillain._

_And that's what got you killed,_ came a stray unwelcome thought from beyond the edge of her consciousness. _Was it worth it, giving up the classroom for the claws?_

_It was!_ Shego insisted to herself. _I knew the risks, I knew Drakken was an incompetent boob, and I always went to bed knowing that there was a damn good chance that I'd end up as a splatter on the wall from one of his fuckups._

She blinked as she suddenly remembered the sight of a towering darkness looming over her. The sensation of numbness crawling across her spine as the light faded, punctuated only by her employer's anguished cries. She remembered the air, thick with the combined smell of smoke and gunpowder and copper, so thick you could taste it. The last thing she'd ever smelled as a living being had been the stench of Hell, and then the final beat of her heart had come, and then she had ceased to be. _That_ was how she had died. That was how _she_ had died. _Her_! Everything she had been, everything she could have been, everything she was - that moment of senseless violence had been the terminus of all three paths. _That_ was not the end she had wanted.

Yeah, she had known that there was always the possibility of her own demise. Those in her career of choice rarely made it to the nursing home. She was a professional, of course she knew that. Every criminal who aims higher than knocking over gas stations for meth money knows they could die at any time. Even so, there was a very real difference between knowing and _knowing_.

_Yeah. Yeah, it _is_ different when it happens,_ she accepted. _And I was an idiot, too slow on the uptake. I've got nobody to blame but myself. Hego's a genius compared to me._

Suddenly Shego's eyes widened and she covered her mouth in horror. _Holy shit! Eight_ years_! My family is eight years older! Oh, please don't tell me Hego's still working at that faux-Mexican grease factory!_

She shoved that thought into the deepest, darkest recesses of her psyche, then built a wall around it with her next thoughts. _Well, what the fuck do I care? It's not like we kept in touch… I doubt they'd even recognize me. _I_ don't even know how I look. I have _got_ to find a mirror._

With a weak groan she shoved past the pile, having given up on finding an acceptable outfit. She stalked off towards the door she believed led out into the main building. She reached for the control pad and was about to key in the sequence she'd watched Kim input when she left to meet with…

_I'mmm gonna save that thought for a much later date. Right now I just gotta find the nearest mirror and see what the damage is. And then I'm gonna get me some sexy clothes that fit and don't show off my oh-so-attractive blood ports._ She smirked. _Yeah, that sounds like a plan._

But she remained where she stood, just looking at the door in a stupor. _C'mon, Shego! What're you, stupid? Just key it in and you'll find a bathroom with a mirror. How hard can that be?_

_But Kim should be back soon…_ countered another part of Shego.

_So what!? She's already put a "monitoring system" in me. She can find me if she damn well needs to! _She sighed and slumped her shoulders. ..._Ah, shit. No point in lying to myself._

The simple fact of the matter was that she just didn't want to be out there alone. It was pathetic and childish, but it was the truth. She didn't expect to see any familiar faces beyond that door. And she was not about to take on a building loaded with GJ agents in nothing but a pair of worn-out PJs.

As bizarre as it was, Kim was the only human connection she could currently hold onto. Kim Possible, the annoying little brat that used to cause her nothing but grief and frustration. Kim Possible, the doctor. Or scientist. Or whatever the hell she was now.

How pathetic was that? She barely knew the woman who she now relied on. That was what Shego's life was now. Trapped in a body she couldn't understand and emotionally and physically reliant on a woman that barely resembled the young girl she used to know.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," she stated bitterly to herself. "What a cliché." _And it's even more of a cliché when you point it out using a cliché. Which I just did. Fuck me.  
_

She shook her head and, walking back to her pile of clothes, lost herself in the monotony of sorting through them all.

* * *

Kim finally came through the door five minutes later. Her hair was slightly perturbed, with stray strands of red hanging above her face. She seemed slightly flushed, and her glasses appeared moments away from falling away completely. She quickly set her face back into its jovial position and looked up with a bright sunny smile, a smile strained somewhat by disuse.

"I'm back, Shego, sorry for the…" She paused when she saw the huge pile of clothes Shego had scattered on all sides, as well the dejected look on her face as she continued to pull articles free from the various cases.

Kim bit back a frown and responded as cheerfully as she could manage. "Y'know, I was kinda hoping we could have done that together. I _was_ the one to keep track of all that for you this whole time. Just call me the keeper of the storage shed!" She saluted the green woman goofily.

Shego didn't bother to look up as she responded. "No point. I'm pretty much wearing the only outfit in this mess that doesn't make me look like a complete freak show. Right now I just look like a _partial_ freak show that only owns a pair of pajamas."

Kim blinked and took a moment to sort through that somewhat confusing declaration before understanding finally took hold. Almost immediately her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

"Omigod, Shego, I'm so sorry! I'm an idiot, it never once even popped into my thick skull that you'd—"

"Ah-buh-buh!" Shego held up a clawed index finger, shushing Kim in the same way she did with the last doctor in her life. "Don't start with the pointless apologizing, Kimmie."

She gave Kim a weak smirk and added, "There's more than enough on my mind at the moment then to go adding your little guilt trips to it, 'kay?"

_You and me both,_ Kim thought tiredly, then mentally berated herself for presuming to compare their current situations.

"Sor-- er… Yeah, that… so… need any help?" she finally asked, making a vague gesture towards the empty suitcases and strewn-about clothing.

"Nah, see, I got a system going here. Heh." Shego waved her off with a weak, probably forced, chuckle.

She pointed to the medium-sized pile to her right, "This here's my Fucked Up Through Stupidity pile; which is made up of clothes I was dumb enough to try on. Mostly jeans, expensive dresses, lacy underthings, y'know. The clothes I actually _liked_."

She moved on and pointed to what was easily the largest pile laying between herself and the transfusion chair. "Aaaaand this _here_ is the Thrift Store pile. These are all the clothes that would have gone into the aforementioned pile had I been dumb enough to try them on. Well, except for my uniforms. There's no way in hell I'm selling those."

Kim's expression tightened in memory of Shego's infamous harlequin catsuits.

"And this tiny pile _here_ is the Stuff I Wouldn't Normally Be Caught Dead In, But Which Somehow Still Fits Due To Cruel Irony, Too Much Ice Cream, And Bloaty Days pile. I know, I know; I'm working on shortening the name, but nothing else seems to get the main idea across." She flicked another baggy gray sweatshirt onto that pile with a disgusted air.

_Yeah, she's adjusting well,_ Kim thought, sighing to herself. _This was _so_ much easier when I was just imagining it._

She walked over to the pile of damaged clothes and began sifting through them to see what was salvageable. Thinking of a possible solution to the clothing issue, she paused in her sorting and looked up at Shego while mentally biting the bullet.

"Well… I'm hesitant to bring it up, but this _is_ a GJ facility, so it's pretty well-stocked to say the least. Finding some nice clothes for you in _this_ place shouldn't be too hard, so… no big, right?"

Shego rolled her eyes and slumped slightly. "Gah, don't remind me." She pointed at herself. "Blue? _So_ not my color. Trust me."

After another pause, Shego asked a question that had been rolling around in her head since Kim's return. "By the way… well, how'd that go anyways?"

Kim's shoulders stiffened and she began to sift faster through the clothes. When she heard Shego's foot tapping impatiently on the tiles, she finally spoke. "How'd it go? Um…"

"Princess…?"

Kim sighed and stood, placing the folded pile on the table besides the monitors. "Yeah, um, not too well." Her expression hardened slightly. "She and I have some… serious disagreements about my priorities."

"Me, you mean," Shego stated flatly.

"No!" Kim explained, frantically waving her arms as if to banish the thought, "Not _you_, I mean…"

She seemed to lose her energy all of a sudden and reached for the rolling chair. After slumping into it, she cast Shego a tired look and pushed up her glasses. "Honestly, your name didn't even come up, really, just… it's nothing. There's no need to worry."

Shego regarded Kim with a difficult-to-read expression for what felt like a whole minute. Kim averted her eyes slightly and had to keep from wriggling uncomfortably in her seat. But thankfully, Shego finally shook her head. "Whatever you say, Doc…"

Kim gave a weak laugh and took off her glasses to play around with the hinges. "Stop calling me 'Doc'. It's _way_ too creepy coming from _you_."

Shego waved her off and smirked, placing a hand on her cocked hip. "So… this is gonna sound kinda weird, but…"

"Yes?" Kim asked, mentally ecstatic for the change in subject.

"Do you have a mirror on you?" Shego asked, trying to hide her hesitance. "Like a compact or something?"

"A mirror?" Kim asked, then reached into her various large pockets until finally feeling out the requested item. "Yeah, lemme just… here you go."

She handed the small compact over to Shego, trying not to frown when she noticed Shego's hesitance in taking it. Turning away from Kim, Shego hesitantly eased open the small makeup tool until she got a clear look at her face.

For five minutes, she didn't move.

Kim lost her patience and eased up to try to look over Shego's shoulder to see her expression reflected in the mirror. She regretted that action seconds later.

"…Good _God_, what's wrong with my teeth?!" Shego cried, startling Kim enough that she tripped on her own feet and stumbled back. Her hip smacked against the edge of the table, sending knives of pain up and down Kim's side and making her eyes tear up. She hissed and tried to rub feeling back into her abused hip.

"It's really not that―" Kim attempted to say from between her gritted teeth.

"And wrinkles! I have wrinkles!" Shego shouted in indignity at the mirror in front of her. Her eyes were focused on the deep, dark worry lines around her eyes. Her right hand suddenly erupted in black flame and she looked as though she were about to punish the small looking glass for its transgressions.

But Kim managed to breathe a sigh of relief when Shego extinguished the flame and dropped the mirror from limp fingers. "Jesus, I look like I'm _forty_… A forty-year-old vampire shark thing…My life has become the plot of a B-horror movie."

Kim wasn't sure what she could say to help appease the recently animated thief. The fact of the matter was, she _did_ look older. Her whole body had been restructured leaving her taller, more muscular, and just all-around bigger than she'd been before. But there were other changes, like her claws and her waist. Said waist was thinner than her frame allowed, a testament to all the organs Drakken had removed from her abdominal cavity. Now it was just flesh, muscle and bone, and appeared unnaturally constricted as a result.

But what Shego was focusing on were the numerous lines of stress and dark skin framing her eyes. It added years to what had once been a picture of almost alien beauty. Dying certainly did not do Shego any favors in the looks department.

"Shego…" Kim began, wracking her brain to think of a tactful way to appease the undead thief's mood. This seemed to have the exact opposite effect, however; Shego flashed a bald-faced sneer at Kim.

"What, can't plaster on another fake smile, Pumpkin?" Shego stated coldly, crossing her arms. "Shame. It really worked for you."

Kim blanched. She struggled desperately to stay supportive in the face of such a cruel remark. "Wh… I…just…"

Shego regretted her words almost as soon as they'd left her mouth. And Kim's shameful stupor in front of her only served to make her feel like dirt. _IDIOT! What the hell is wrong with you?! She's probably the only person alive who cares about you and you jump down her throat? Real tough, smartass._

She winced and turned away, keeping from making eye contact with Kim. Shrugging, Shego spoke with a resigned dispassion.

"Shit, Princess, I'm sorry, I... I just..." she sighed and walked over to the other side of the lab, "I dunno what to do with myself..."

There was a tense silence then, as both parties retreated inwards. Neither was sure what to say, or if there was even anything to say in the first place. Eventually, Kim made the first move, leaning down and picking up one of Shego's catsuits, running the soft but sturdy material between her thumb and index finger. The familiar colors helped to center the redhead's thoughts.

"This thing…" Kim made a vague hand gesture towards the transfusion equipment and Shego, "All of this, it's just until I find a way to help you. I don't want you to feel like this is it..."

She looked up at Shego and walked towards her, turning the woman around so that they were making eye contact. Kim placed the folded uniform in Shego's hands and added with a smile, "We'll get back to the way things were."

_Careful, Kimmie._ Shego thought immediately, _Don't make promises you can't keep._

She mentally put a dead stop to that thought as soon as it came. _Remember that lame motto of hers. She got you _this_ far, right?_

She noticed Kim looking up at her with nervous apprehension. Doing her best to summon up a smile, Shego spoke, laying the old snark on thick.

"Y'mean like me kicking your ass?"

The relieved expression all over Kim's face was so obvious that it almost hurt to watch. The redhead sighed and tried to look put-upon, but Shego could tell she was happy to hear the Shego she knew. "Ha ha. It _has_ been a while, but I do _not_ remember _you_ ever kicking _my_ ass, Miss Shego. I seem to recall exactly the opposite, in fact."

"Well, memory _is_ the first thing to go..." The green woman smirked, looking at her claws dismissively.

"No it's not! Shut up!" Kim protested, trying to hide her smile under a weak mask of indignation. This was more like it, what she'd been hoping for this whole time. It was nice to see that the Shego she remembered was still in there underneath all that frustration.

It was quite obvious from the familiar smirk on Shego's face that the green woman concurred with the sentiment. "Too bad we can't see who's got a clearer memory of our little altercations."

To Shego's surprise, Kim actually seemed to be considering her suggestion. "Well… y'know, we could always…"

"Um, exactly _what_ could we always, Kimmie?" Shego inquired cautiously. "Because if we could always what I _think_ we could always..."

Kim flushed slightly at the relatively stupid idea she'd come up with."I kinda have carte blanche to use the training field as I need to, and…" She glanced around the cluttered room. "You gotta admit, this room is getting pretty stuffy."

It took a moment for Kim's suggestion to sink in fully. When it did, Shego gave Kim a look of arch disapproval. "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding. Do you rent or own that timeshare in Crazytown, Possible? We can't fight!"

Kim winced and rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Well, not seriously, no. But…"

She smirked impishly and crossed her arms. "As your doctor, I'm gonna have to insist."

"That right?" Shego asked, quirking an eyebrow slightly. She cocked her hip and placed a hand on it. "How do you figure that, exactly?"

Kim turned to the various monitors lining the walls. She pointed to a particular screen and cast Shego a knowing look. Shego, in turn, stared blankly at the screen for a minute and then back at Kim with a wry smirk. "Yeah, Dr. D just expected me to understand all this science-y crap too. I'll tell you what I told him: not in my contract."

Kim sighed and pointed to various shifting numerical values. "Your nerve impulses and operational state keep fluctuating between seventy and eighty percent. That's not _too_ bad, but it still bothers me. I really think giving you a chance to stretch your legs will do you some good."

Shego was about to protest, make up some excuse, or just say she wasn't interested. But the determination on Kim's face stayed her tongue. Being stubborn wouldn't do her any favors right now. Not here, in this... place.

She groaned and rubbed the back of her head, grudgingly resigned to her fate. "Argh… alright, but am I just gonna go in _this_?"

She gestured towards her gray sweater and sweat pants with a slightly curled lip.

Kim, however, was not to be denied. She quickly waved off Shego's concerns, grabbed her by the hand, and almost dragged her out the door. She only paused to enter the passcode. "I'll see what I can find on the way there. You just focus on getting your head in the game."

"Whatever," the pale woman replied as she reluctantly left the safety of the lab. "Lead the damn way, Doc."

"I really hate you calling me that," Kim scoffed as the two left the room. Had she not been so distracted, however, she would have noticed her companion's eyes widen slightly as Shego cast one final glance back at the room.

Because, in the moment before the door automatically sealed shut, just for a fleeting instant, she saw a figure on the chair. A figure wrapped in black tatters and shredded metal. A figure whose single smug beady black eye stared at her knowingly from between bone-white bangs.

* * *

Dez shoved another wad of popcorn in his mouth as he glared over at the screen in front of him. He munched the buttery kernels idly as he watched one of his favorite action films, Steven Seagal's _Silent But Deadly_, playing in full big-screen surround-sound ultra-hi-def splendor. Too bad he was having such a lousy day so far or he'd have actually been able to enjoy it.

Shifting in his recliner slightly, he winced. His tailbone still hurt from his encounter with that arrogant skank down in the crypt. Dez reached for another handful of popcorn but grimaced when his fingernails scraped the bottom of the plastic bowl. That had been his last bag, and he'd be damned if he was going to move for another hour. He licked his lips and the surrounding area, trying to lap up every last morsel of salted-butter residue trapped in his scruffy half-beard. He wanted to look his best for his assistant. Not that he cared about her, but you just never knew when some broad would spread her legs.

"Milanda!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Milanda, get your lazy assistant ass in gear and _assist_ me in getting some more popcorn!"

There was no reply. He tried several more times; nothing. Onscreen, Seagal shouted, "I kick your face, baby seal ninja hooker!" Eventually, reluctantly, Dez slowly stood up. He looked over at her, sitting at the work table, busy doing… whatever she did when he wasn't making her "pick up" something he "dropped."

He turned off _SBD_ - as action cinema aficionados such as himself often referred to it - and stalked over, trying to hide his limp as best he could. He stalked up to the young woman, who was busy sketching stuff on some datapad, and lowered his head so he was well into her personal space.

"Milanda, sweety? Your boss needs junk food to make with the brilliance. So how's about you get off your fine ass and get me some?" He batted his eyes at her mockingly. "See, I even gave you a compliment."

The dark woman looked up into Dez's eyes, blinked, and went back to work. Her middle finger rose up in salute. "Sure, boss. I'll totally get right on that. _Definitely_ by next year."

The young man's right eye twitched slightly. "You'll be so kind as to remind me why I don't can your ass?"

"You _don't_ can my ass 'cause you _can't_ can my ass and you like _lookin'_ at my ass." She smirked. "Which you better, 'cause Director Du said she was tired of you going through RAs like you go through lotion and tissue. So I am here to stay, motherfucker, because I will walk in here one day and have _your_ job if you keep this up."

"Oh, be still my beating heart," Desmond drawled. "And what better things do you have to do, Miss Signy, than fetch your loving and remarkably attractive boss some delicious consumer-poison?"

He smirked and sat on the table, reaching over and shoving her work to the side before she could stop him. "And as if you didn't put on that oh-so-daring top just to get my attention." He pointed at the dark blue tanktop she wore right beneath her labcoat.

She snorted derisively at him. "You are a dick with a brain, you know that? And I mean that real damn literally. You are a Goddamn penis that walks upright, boss."

Dez grinned. "I try." He lost the grin almost immediately. "Now, Archie's practically ready to take his first steps off the assembly line, so I know you're not here for _that_. Goofing off on _my_ time, babycakes?"

Milanda quirked an eyebrow and gave a wry smirk. "Scared of the competition, Dez? That's okay, I don't blame you. You're tried and tired. I'm young and brilliant. And one day you will be fetching my… um… well, not popcorn. I eat better than _your_ nasty ass. But I'll think of something nice and demeaning for you to take care of."

"Hey, if you want my attention, honey, you need only ask. I mean, it's really just the two of us in this big lonely place and I'm a charitable guy." Dez smirked, blowing a kiss her way. Milanda actually had to keep herself from ducking the gesture in horror. She liked to think she was a little more mature than that.

"Sorry, bossman. I would just feel so Goddamned guilty about coming between you and your soon-to-be outdated Apples." She stressed her personal nickname for his AAPs and watched as his smile tightened across his gums.

"Signy, I do _not_ make Goddamn candy-colored, overpriced MP3 players," snarled Dez. "Nor do I make candy-colored, overpriced computers for girls."

Milanda snickered. "No, you make candy-colored, overpriced missile launchers for men with tiny dicks. Same dif, bossman."

Dez ground his teeth. "They are so much more than...!" He caught himself before he did anything lawsuit-worthy, opting to knead his forehead instead. "You and Possible, I swear… There is just something to be said about chicks who think they've got two brain cells to rub together. Daddy always told me to stick with whores. But there I go, thinkin' I know better…"

"I see where you got your charm." A grin sliced it's way across Milanda's face and her eyes narrowed. "You tried to make a move on Frankenstein, didn'tcha. You picked quite a day, I heard she actually smiled. Scared the livin' shit out of Doc Sebastian over in Android Studies."

Dez barely suppressed a snarl. "The Corpse Bride allegedly - a-_fucking_-llegedly! - pulls off a miracle and suddenly she's the talk of the complex. Not like anyone even knows what the hell that creepy broad _does_…"

"Aw, don't feel bad, Desmond. You can still get her attention." Milanda smirked. "All you gotta do is drop dead. Which I'm fine with. No more grabbin' popcorn for your fat ass."

"Ha. Ha." Dez scoffed crossing his arms and turning his head up. "One of these days, you bitches are gonna realize just how much you crave my man-meat, and then we'll be in real business."

"And until then," the young woman interrupted, trying her best to shake off the unpleasant image, "You can spend some time with Apple-13. It's been trying to get your attention all morning."

Dez blinked, seemingly stunned by the sudden work-related change of topic. He quickly resumed grinning his slimy grin. "Whatever, babe. I'll go and have me a little chat with Thirteen, and you can think your dirty fantasies about my retreating behind."

He grinned and sauntered off with a slight swing in his stride, as his research assistant contemplated the pros and cons of throwing a wrench at the behind in question. She'd made tougher decisions in her life.

Dez cried out as a hard edge of metal struck the back of his left knee and dropped him hard. "Dammit, Signy!"

When he whipped around to confront her, her empty chair was spinning in lazy circles. "Typical."

Taking the tattered remains of his dignity with him, he shuffled back over to his loveseat and fell into it with a groan. After allowing himself a moment of silence, Dez typed in a set of quick commands, changing his television screen to an interface HUB. The screen displayed a large yellow hexagon with six smaller hexagons surrounding it in a shifting pattern. It was Arachnophobia's Artificial Intelligence avatar, designed to vaguely represent its body's optic cluster.

"Good Morning, Dave," came an annoyed deep voice, pushing the bass of the speakers.

"Don't you start," Dez warned. He knew letting it have access to the entertainment archive was gonna cost him. But combat AIs were always so _boring_ without getting a chance to take in different types of data. "So… what's up, big guy?"

"Desmond, I am aware that my frame is past its final testing phase. When am I to engage in live field tests?"

Dez smirked. "Well, aren't you the eager beaver. The simulations not good enough for you?"

"These simulations are based on programming sets ten years behind my intelligence. I am bored. I wish to be uploaded into my frame."

Dez scoffed and leaned back in his seat. "No can do, pally. Not 'til we run some more checks on your conversion servos. If those lock up, you could turn yourself inside out trying to fix it."

"Unacceptable. The tests are conclusive. When will you let me out of this box?"

"Stop quoting evil robots! It's, y'know, weird!" Dez snapped, snatching his drink from the table and taking a big sip. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked over at the screen.

"Bah. I suppose I've got nothing better to do than to load you up. What's going on at the fields? Anyone out there?"

"Doctor Possible is logged as having entered the area. She is… accompanied. But the data on her companion is contradictory at best."

Dez paused and looked down into his lap for a moment. "Accompanied, you say?"

"Correct. Facial pattern does not match any registered employees, nor does her biorhythmic pattern."

Dez was silent for over five minutes. He just sat and stared at his drink, his eyes narrowed in troubling thoughts. Finally he looked up at the screen and tossed his drink over his shoulder into the wastebasket behind him. The cup bounced off the rim and rolled across the floor, splashing soda and ice onto the concrete. After a brief sigh, he elected to ignore the fumble.

"I didn't hear that," he stated finally.

"Must I repeat myself?" Thirteen asked, annoyed.

"No, no. As far as I know, that training field is empty. I'm just sending you in to stretch your legs." Dez stated more to himself than to Arachnophobia as he began typing furiously into the command console, prepping the transfer systems.

"Yup," he smirked, "That's my story and I'm sticking to it…"

* * *

Inside the men's prison block of the Middleton Correctional Facility, the inmates were restless, fully aware that something was seriously wrong beyond the immediate walls. The alarms had stopped ringing some time ago, and the guards had all but disappeared - evacuated, probably - well before that.

The last any of the incarcerated men saw of a person in authority, they had been rushing in full riot gear towards the main entryway. Then the emergency lights had come on and the prisoners were left with nothing but their thoughts.

But now the only noise was from the discussions and arguments between the inmates themselves. All of them had the same thought on their mind.

This would be a damn good time to check out.

Several had preexisting escape plans in mind already and went to the back of their cells to see if they could be rushed to completion. Others bickered over whose contacts outside had arranged this sudden and conspicuous intervention. The sounds of their frantic and angered voices bounced back and forth across the huge wing, drowning out individual words in favor of a senseless din. But the older, more seasoned villains knew better than to place any faith in such a hunch.

Duff Killigan leaned back, his hand reaching down into the bedframe. It had taken some doing, but he had managed to fabricate a passable weaponized ion-putter with a little help from a few genius types a few cells down. It'd cost him an arm and a leg but was worth every penny.

He didn't know what was happening, but if it came down to his short game, he wouldn't be empty-handed.

"Hey, Duff! D-Man! Scotty!" yelled his highly obnoxious neighbor. Duff gritted his teeth and prayed that Ed would get the idea and mind his business. And, of course, the Scotsman was shown no such courtesy.

"Dude, you seein' this? Seriously. What goin' down, man? You'd know, right? Keep your ear to the ground? Yeah, you know. Seriously, do you know?" There was a nervous edge to the mechanic's voice that undercut his typically exuberant attitude. As idiotic as Motor Ed often was, he was a longtime member of a dangerous business, so instincts were bound to develop. Were that not the case, the blond thug wouldn't have bothered to say a word to Killigan in the first place. They weren't fans of each other, though Killigan's animosity towards Ed greatly outweighed Ed's animosity toward Killigan.

"Dinnae bother me now, ye daft grease stain," Killigan hissed as he glared through the reinforced bars.

Duff's flat dismissal didn't seem to provide Ed any comfort. "Whoa, ya sound tripped out, bro. What gives? Why are ya gettin' all uptight, Scotty? It's makin' me nervous, seriously."

Killigan hissed a breath through his teeth and spoke close to the bars so it wouldn't get any further than Ed's ears, his dangerously enhanced golf club held tightly behind his back. "I've told ye before not to call me that, lummox."

"But if'n ye want my advice," he answered in all seriousness, "ye'd best stay on yer toes, lad."

There was a tense silence on the part of the mad mechanic. Duff considered the unlikely possibility that Ed was actually considering the possible outcomes.

"You think this shit is serious, D-man?" he finally asked, seemingly taking on an air of caution. Duff almost couldn't believe his ears. But a distraction kept him from responding.

The main door leading into the men's cell block was a four-foot-thick block of electrified and reinforced military-grade ceramic lined with a titanium alloy mesh. Many unnatural, monstrous and enhanced prisoners had tried and failed to get past that overpriced vault door over the years. It was one of the main reasons that the guard's and inmates had dubbed the blasted thing Hell's Gate.

So, of course, when the door in question exploded off its hinges, zoomed clear across the room, and imbedded itself in the far wall, it was reasonable enough for Killigan to consider it a distraction. Then Duff saw the juggernaut and the wraith clearly as they stepped through the dark hole, and he was afraid.

"Serious, lad?" Killigan stated darkly as his fingers tightened around his putter. "Aye. As serious as it gets."

* * *

Chapter 2: End

**Author's Notes: I dedicate this chapter to my Beta-readers, FFordesoon, and Eoraptor.** **Without them this would have been downright illegible. And also to my readers for staying tuned despite the LONG wait for this chapter. I'm really sorry about that, and I take full responsibility for it. I'll try to insure that it not happen again. ;)  
**

**Now remember, Reviews are greatly appreciated. :P  
**


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